CIAgent
by tommyhanson
Summary: AU from "Point Blank". The search for Kate's killer dredges up a past Neal had thought buried.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Okay, so, here goes. This is my second attempt at White Collar fic, first attempt at Chuck fic, and first attempt at a crossover of any kind. So please, be gentle. Also, while I have been a White Collar fan from the start, the same can not be said for Chuck. I knew a little bit about it because Matt Bomer was in it, but I had this fic planned from the first moment I saw the promos for "Point Blank", at which point I had never seen a single episode of Chuck. I did, however, go out today and buy season 1, so I'm catching up. Hopefully this will get better. And FYI, reviews are always helpful, to let me know what I'm doing right/wrong, and to keep me motivated (read: guilted) into writing more._

Disclaimer: If I owned White Collar or Chuck this would totally be an episode. As it's not, I obviously don't. Sure, rub it in.

Warning: Assume there's spoilers for, like, _everything_. Well, everything that's been aired, at least.

**CIAgent**

"Tell me why you killed Kate!"

_No, _Peter thought. _No, no, no._ This couldn't be happening. "Neal, put the gun down! Neal, don't do this!"

"He killed her, Peter. He killed Kate."

Peter shook his head, denying the scene in front of him. Neal, with a gun trained on a man, with his finger on the trigger. "Neal, this isn't you." He knew Neal had a good heart. He'd seen it, in the way he looked at Elizabeth, at Peter himself, first with tentative hope, but later with trust, and love, and always a little bit of disbelief, as though he couldn't understand how these two people could possibly care for him. Peter had seen it in the way he'd risked his freedom, his very life for Mozzie, simply because he'd asked. Peter knew Neal had a good heart, because he'd watched it bleed, as he'd held the trembling, screaming boy to him, while fire blazed in the background.

Just because Peter knew he had a good heart though, didn't mean that he was oblivious to anything else. He knew that Neal had secrets. He hadn't failed to notice the confidence with which he'd held that shotgun, or the coldness in his eyes when he'd fired it. He hadn't failed to notice that Neal hadn't offered any answers, and Peter had feared to ask.

"I want him to know how it felt. How she felt."

Peter could see the coldness entering Neal's eyes again, the way his finger tightened on the trigger, and Peter would have lunged for him if not for the almost imperceptible way his hand shook.

"Look at me. Look at me, Neal. Neal. Look at me, Neal. Come on. This isn't who you are."

Neal turned, just barely, his eyes flickering to Peter's. They were too old. They were far, far too old for someone so young, and held more pain than any man should be made to endure. His voice was impossibly sad, and filled with something Peter might have called regret, when he replied, "You don't know who I am."

"Yes I do. I know you. Better than just about anyone. Trust me, Neal. I need you to trust me."

His hand shook a little more, and his voice was barely above a whisper when he replied, "I trust you."

"Then give me the gun."

Peter could see Neal struggling with himself, an almost physical thing, as a dozen unnamed emotions danced behind his eyes. He glanced at Fowler, then back to Peter, almost pleadingly, as he took a tentative step towards his friend.

Peter stepped forward quickly, removing the gun from his grasp, and handing it off to Diana. He laid a gentle hand on Neal's back, and pulled him close, murmuring a quiet "Good boy, Neal."

Peter was about to move towards Fowler, prepared to cuff and Mirandize him, when suddenly the room exploded in an eruption of gunfire. Peter made to grab Neal on his way to the floor, but Neal was already there, crouched low behind a crate, clever eyes scanning the room as bullets whizzed through the air, and glass and plaster rained down on them.

It seemed to last for hours, seconds stretched impossibly long as Peter crouched beside Neal, one arm up to shield his eyes from the onslaught of debris, but really it could barely have been a minute before their ears were left ringing in the vacuum of silence. Peter turned to Neal to check that he was okay, but the younger man shot up and across the room in a flash. Peter rose as well, quickly trying to assess the damage, while keeping Neal in his immediate sight.

The room was in shambles, but that was to be expected, and barely registered somewhere in the back of his mind. Diana - unharmed. The Security Guard - shaken, but unharmed. Fowler - crap.

Fowler was on the ground, with Neal kneeling over him. Peter rushed to join them, and immediately noted the two GSWs to Fowler's chest. Crap. He was alive, but barely, and not for long.

Neal's voice had taken on a dangerous, desperate quality when he demanded of Fowler, "Why did you kill Kate? What do you know? Tell me what you know! Why would anyone want to kill Kate?"

Fowler laughed, and it was only years of experience as an FBI agent that kept Peter's stomach from churning at the choked, gurgling noise, and the blood that frothed up, staining his lips. "It was never about Kate," he said, his eyes full of cruel amusement, fixed on Neal's face.

"Then _why?_"

Fowler's face twisted into an ugly smirk, as he gasped out, "It was always about you."

Peter's heart clenched in fear and worry, and he almost missed Fowler's final words.

"Mr. Larkin."

_A/N - One last quick note. I will try to have another chapter posted in a farly reasonable amount of time, but I am a University student, and am therefore subjected to the horrible thing known as schoolwork, so please bear with me, and I will do my best. And also, thanks very much for reading and reviewing! :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N - First off, thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, or favorited this story. You guys rock. Second, this chapter is dedicated to banan, for writing a review that pushed me into finishing this chapter, and made me grin like an idiot. __J Third, I know that these chapters don't seem terribly long, and I'm sorry, but I'm doing my best. I can picture this in my head just fine, it's just translating it onto paper (well, figuratively, at least) that's giving me trouble. Ooh, and I've finished seeing "Chuck" all the way up to "Chuck Versus the Nemesis" (awesome, btw, but I feel that nobody's being fair to poor misunderstood beautiful Bryce. …And that the scene with his shirt off wasn't __**nearly**__ long enough. *Drool*) Oh, and as always, please read and review. …Or review and read, but that way makes less sense. Oh well. To each their own._

Disclaimer: Still not mine, darn it.

Warnings: Always assume spoilers for anything aired.

**Chapter Two**

Neal wore the face of someone who'd just seen their world implode. Like someone who'd watched their house burn down, every photograph and memory, all the promise of a future there charred to ash. A horrified expression, mixed with disbelief, and anger, and grief, because _how could this happen?_ Neal stumbled backwards, almost drunkenly away from Fowler's body, and just stood for a moment, frozen, staring and shocked. Then, like a steel trap had slammed down, the emotion left his face, and his back straightened, and his breath evened out, slow and steady. His voice was cool and controlled when he told the security guard "Give me your phone."

The guard looked like a startled animal, flickering frightened eyes back and forth between Neal and Fowler. "I-I, uhhm…"

"Give me your phone."

The order in his tone had the guard handing it over before he even seemed to register he was doing it.

Neal dialed a number, and quickly held it to his ear. "Moz-"

Peter could hear the man on the other side in the echoing silence of the room.

"Neal, thank _God_. Do you know what it was like, to show up at your apartment, expecting to see Neal, but hey, _no Neal_. Just a dog wearing your tracker, which normally I would be all for, but no, you have to go off on your own, _without me_, and I had to call the _Suit_ of all people-"

"-Moz-"

"-And you know that that goes against every fiber of my being. I mean, I'm going to have to bathe in ammonia just to get the bureaucracy off of me-"

"-Moz!" Neal cut in again, "Pineapple!"

There was an audible "click", and then Mozzie's voice was gone. Neal handed the cell back to the guard, who pocketed it, and looking rather sick, made vague motions to the door. "I'm, uhh, going to just-" And he left, his shoes echoing off the staircase as he practically sprinted away.

Peter mentally rolled his eyes.

"Pineapple?" he asked, perplexed.

"Got it from a friend," Neal replied distractedly, kneeling back down to check Fowler's pockets. He found a wallet and a cell phone, but after a quick look through the wallet, put it back. He made as though he did the same with the cell, but Peter had been working with him long enough to not miss the sleight-of-hand as he slid it into his own pocket.

"Why did he call you Mr. Larkin?" Diana asked, voicing the question Peter was dying to know.

Neal shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Peter didn't miss the lie, either, or the way Neal shifted his stance, like he did when he was getting ready to run. "Diana, cuff him."

Diana came forward and reached for him, with the cuffs in one hand, but faster than you could blink, Neal twisted around and locked one end around her wrist, and another around a heavy table leg.

"Sorry," he told her, sounding almost genuine, "but I gotta go."

Like a flash, he was out the door, and Peter gave chase.

It was almost a relief to be back in familiar territory.

"Neal!" Peter cried, following the felon out into the street. _Wow, he can move fast._ Neal turned a corner, and Peter was worried he was going to lose him, but when he followed he nearly ran into the man in question as he stood waiting for him.

Neal's eyes locked on Peter's, and it was almost hypnotizing in the intensity of his stare. Peter felt a new and deeper understanding of the concept of "deer-in-the-headlights", as he found he couldn't look away, couldn't move, could hardly _breathe_.

Neal's voice was low and strong, but the way he spoke made his statement seem more like a question, as though he were seeking reassurance for something he feared to ask. "I can trust you."

Peter nodded. "You can trust me Neal."

"Do you trust me?"

_This,_ Peter thought, _This is a defining moment. This is where I make a choice, that good or bad, I can't take back._ He thought, really thought, about the man before him. He thought about the crimes he'd committed, the laws he'd broken, the mess he'd left in his wake. He thought about the rash decisions, and lack of impulse, and the sure way he'd held a gun. He thought about all the things he didn't know about criminal.

And then he thought about all the things he did know about his friend. About the times he'd put his life on the line to help Peter, the time he gave Peter the only oxygen in the room with a simple "I trust you." He thought about the way he seemed to honestly love to see people smile, with a simple compliment or carefully crafted origami. He thought about his loyalty, to Kate, to Moz, to June, to Peter and El. The way he made El smile, when he'd suddenly appear in the mornings to steal breakfast and a cereal-box toy, with Oliver Twist eyes and a child's gleeful grin.

_Yes_, he thought. _Yes._ "I trust you."

Neal searched his face, then nodded, once. "Follow me."

Peter quickly fell into step besides Neal. "Where are we going?"

Neal smiled slightly, but his body was still tense and his eyes still obsessively alert.

"Thursday."


End file.
